Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  He tried not to think of the enchantments he had once commanded that could have seen him travel the breadth of Tencendor in an instant.

  Over the past week they had pushed both horses and men hard, northwards through the Minstrelsea forest, skirting Arcen, and then straight through the tree-sheltered passes of the Minaret Peaks in the dead of night. Both Axis and Azhure would have liked to stop to talk with FreeFall, but time was more important for the moment, and they could always send him a message from Star Finger if they needed.

  Besides, no doubt FreeFall had his own problems in this Demonic-controlled world.

  Now they rode through the northern Minstrelsea a few hours distant of the southern extremities of the Fortress Ranges. Good time. Excellent time. But…

  “We’re moving too slow,” Axis said, turning to look at Azhure and Caelum sitting their horses to his left. Behind them were the twenty men of the accompanying unit, while the Alaunt ranged to the sides and the front, snuffling among trees.

  Axis shifted impatiently, his face clearly showing his frustration. “Damn it! These Demons grow in strength from one day to the next—I can feel the horror seep from the plains in among these trees!—and yet we still march northwards…and we’re barely halfway!”

  Azhure shared a look with Caelum. They were all worried. It would take them weeks to get to Star Finger, and Adamon would be growing anxious.

  “Could we cut time by travelling through the Wild Dog Plains?” Caelum said.

  “A day or two at the most,” Azhure answered, “but a day or two is not worth risking being caught in the open by the Demons.”

  “We could ride hard for the Urqhart Hills—there is shelter there—and then cut directly north into the Icescarp Alps.”

  Axis shook his head. “There is no way we could do any of those legs in the open in the five or six hours that we’d have free during the afternoon.”

  He sighed, and looked behind him at the silent escort, as if one of them might have an inspiration.

  They were impassive, waiting orders, and Axis shook his head imperceptibly and looked back at Azhure. Her face was expressionless, and her eyes dead ahead—but they were unfocused.

  Axis frowned. “Azhure?”

  She hardly heard him. She was thinking. Remembering. Remembering a time many years ago when she had just been Azhure, daughter of Hagen the Plough-Keeper. She’d fled her home to first live with the Avar, and then the Icarii. She’d come down to the Earth Tree Grove to celebrate Beltide with the Icarii and Avar, and had been seduced by Axis. Thinking to remove herself from his life—what could she contribute save his ruination?—Azhure had then travelled south into Sigholt with Rivkah and the two Sentinels, Ogden and Veremund.

  Through the Avarinheim, through the Fortress Ranges, and then down the WildDog Plains until Arne and his escort had found them and delivered them to Sigholt.

  Through the Fortress Ranges. But not over…under.

  Ogden and Veremund had led her and Rivkah into a tunnel that had wound beneath the Fortress Ranges. It had cut many days from their travel.

  That particular tunnel would not be much use to them, but…but Veremund had said…“This tunnel exists…and others like it in various parts of Tencendor,” she murmured.

  “Azhure?”

  She blinked, and looked at Axis.

  “Azhure?” Axis’ voice was impatient.

  “I think I know a way,” she said, and explained what she’d remembered.

  Axis sat on his drowsing horse and thought about it. Azhure had told him about this tunnel many years ago, but neither she nor he had had an opportunity to think about it, much less explore for others since.

  He locked eyes with Caelum. His son was clearly excited, looking between him and Azhure.

  Axis looked back at Azhure. “Do you think there is a chance?”

  She was almost as excited as Caelum. Her dark blue eyes shone, and she tossed her head, shaking out her black hair. “We can but try.”

  “How?” Axis said. “Where are these tunnels?”

  Azhure chewed her lip. “The Alaunt,” she finally said.

  Silence. All three shifted their eyes to the pale shapes still nosing about the trees. Since they’d left the camp in the Silent Woman Woods, the Alaunt had caused no trouble, but none could forget Sicarius’ astounding attack on Axis.

  “Do it,” Axis said. He waved back to the captain of the escort. “We camp here for the time being.”

  Azhure dismounted slowly, and whistled Sicarius to her.

  He came instantly, loping along in easy strides, his golden eyes steady on her.

  Azhure had to repress a shudder. There was something unknowably different about him. She didn’t know if it was just a result of the sudden cessation of her powers—even when she’d thought herself just Azhure, daughter of Hagen, she’d been able to subconsciously access them—or whether it was because the hounds themselves had changed in some subtle way.

  Whatever, she had a problem, because Azhure had always used her powers to communicate with the hounds.

  How could she do so now?

  The hound sat before her, and Azhure slowly dropped to her knees. She lifted both hands, taking Sicarius’ head gently between them.

  “Sicarius,” she said, and stopped, a little unnerved by his dark gold eyes. Traces of silver flecked in their depths, and Azhure could no longer read them, and could no longer understand his mind, nor his heart.

  She heard Axis step up behind her, and out of the corner of her eye saw Caelum still on his horse, but leaning over the pommel of his saddle and watching intently.

  Azhure wet her lips, wondering what words she could use, and tried again.

  “Sicarius, I need you to seek.”

  Something shifted in the hound’s eyes.

  “An entrance to a tunnel leading north. Seek!”

  Damn it! Azhure kept her face as impassive as the hound’s, but she wanted to curse to the very stars themselves. This was so…so cumbersome!

  Sicarius stared at her, his gaze unwavering.

  Azhure fought to keep both her hands and her voice steady. “Seek, Sicarius.”

  He whined, and shifted. Not anxious…Azhure had the distinct impression he was bored and just wanted to get back to his investigation of the forest.

  In desperation, Azhure closed her eyes and formed a mental image of Star Finger.

  Massif…blue…mantled with ice…reaching for stars.

  The hound shifted again.

  Behind him, his mate FortHeart walked up and sat down, curious.

  Azhure fought to repress her frustration, and tried yet again.

  Massif…blue…mantled with ice…reaching for stars. Need to get there. FAST! Seek a way…seek…seek…

  Now FortHeart whined, and Sicarius’ ears flickered. She had picked up a faint flicker of what Azhure was trying to tell Sicarius, and now in her own peculiar way, and with power that was born of the craft, not of the Stars, FortHeart shared her understanding with Sicarius. He trembled, then yelped and wrenched his head out of Azhure’s hands.

  Within an instant both he and FortHeart had disappeared among the trees.

  As had all the other Alaunt. There was not a pale shape to be seen anywhere, only silence from the spot where they’d disappeared. When the Alaunt hunted, they did so silently and with deadly accuracy.

  At least, that’s what Azhure hoped they were doing now.

  “Mother?” Caelum dismounted and squatted by her side, taking her hand. “You look exhausted. Are you all right?”

  Azhure smiled for him. “Yes.” She glanced at Axis. “That was…hard.”

  “Do you think they understood?” Axis asked.

  She shrugged, then laughed with genuine humour. “Who knows? Either they will seek out what we need or they will return with a rabbit for our dinner.”

  Axis grinned as well, and helped Azhure to her feet. “Well, at least they’ll prove themselves useful one way or the other.”

  “Axis,�
� Azhure said, as she dusted her tunic and leggings down, “where did the power of the Alaunt derive from?”

  “From the Stars, surely,” Axis said.

  “I think not, “Azhure said, even more slowly now. “I think not. They ran with Jack for thousands of years. Before that…”

  “Before that they came from WolfStar, didn’t they?” Caelum said.

  “Yes,” Azhure said. “But where did he find them?” She looked Caelum in the eye. “What if they are the creation of the Maze Gate as much as the Prophecy was? And if so…do they retain their power?”

  “Stars!” Caelum breathed. “Do you mean they might have the same power as the Sceptre?”

  “Who knows,” she said, and then took Axis and Caelum by the hand. “But if they do…”

  “If they do,” Axis said, “then we have a chance. A good chance.”

  “And one that Drago does not control,” Caelum said, and grinned.

  “But can we trust the Alaunt?” Axis murmured, and turned to stare southwards.

  The Alaunt ran.

  At least for a while.

  Sicarius commanded them to a halt by the banks of a small stream, and the other fourteen hounds obeyed instantly, sitting down in a perfect circle about their leader.

  The forest waited.

  Sicarius moved about the circle, seeking each of his companions’ thoughts, needing a decision.

  Do we find her this dark space?

  Do we follow her to the blue massif?

  Do we aid her? Do we aid her?

  Do we have any choice?

  For the moment they were purposeless. They had a while yet to wait before they could leap into the fray. A while yet before the man opened the gate into the garden.

  It has been so long in coming.

  But yet is nearly here.

  We help them, Sicarius thought, until the hunter is ready and we course again.

  Azhure had once hunted with the Wolven Bow, and had once directed the Alaunt to the hunt, but there was a greater hunt, and a dearer master, and it was only for this hunt and for this master that the Alaunt had been bred. Their puppyhood had been spent fawning at the feet of Noah, not WolfStar or Jack.

  His companions silently agreed.

  Is there time to hunt before we scent out this dark space? FortHeart asked.

  Sicarius turned on his haunches and nipped her on her shoulder.

  We do not hunt in this forest. Not yet. There is a bloodier prey awaiting us than rabbits and mice and deer.

  FortHeart yelped and leaped to one side, but did not retaliate.

  They loped off, travelling pathways that had not been explored in years, and some that had never been trodden by mortal feet previously. They sought…and they found.

  They knew these secret pathways better than any of the Sentinels had ever done. They were of the land, and part of the land.

  Far above circled almost thirty black shapes. Their wings were stretched tight in the thermals, the scrawny clawed hands at their tips opening and closing with frustration that they could not yet hunt.

  Their bright black eyes, as sharp as the birds they’d been named after, watched the prey scurry far below the forest canopy.

  “Hounds?” whispered one, watching their flickering shapes move through the shadows.

  “Magician hounds!” whispered another, and the entire small flock of the Hawkchilds wheeled and dipped, agitated almost beyond measure.

  Magicians! Had not their masters set them to hunt out the magicians remaining of this world?

  “Magicians?” whispered one. “Magicians? They are no magicians that I have ever known.”

  Its words tumbled fast over its tongue, warped in their speaking.

  “Dogs!” cried another.

  “Hounds!” cried yet another.

  “They run for that man and woman and their son.”

  “StarSon?”

  “StarSon?”

  StarSon?

  “What name is he called by?”

  “Caelum!”

  As one they hissed and fluttered. “That is the name!”

  And then, in a single, smooth and totally co-ordinated movement, they all flipped onto their backs and floated in the thermals, their eyes staring blankly upwards towards the sun, their minds communing.

  The TimeKeepers travelled the central Skarabost Plains. Their black horses strode forth on untiring legs, their paws eating into the grass and killing the distance that still needed to be travelled to the Lake of Life.

  Sigholt lay before them.

  Sigholt!

  StarLaughter sat her horse with ease. She had never been happier in her…well, in any of her lives or existences. She had power again, and she revelled in its soothing caress. In her arms she rocked the toddler boy, rejoicing in his warmth. Next—breath. StarLaughter could hardly wait to hear him draw breath for the first time, and she longed to be woken in the midnight hours by his squalling.

  And then to feel him squirming in her arms.

  But he would be too large then, wouldn’t he? By the time they got to Fernbrake Lake and he gained movement, DragonStar would be a youth.

  “My baby!” she whispered, and smiled. By that time she would no longer be able to hold him to her breast, but by then, the loss would be no loss at all.

  She kicked her horse into greater efforts, and fixed her eyes on the Demons ahead.

  About StarLaughter fluttered her torn, blue robe, rusted into great stiff patches by dried blood, and behind her streamed her dark hair and white wings.

  The Queen of Heaven she might be, yet StarLaughter looked more demonic than any of her companions.

  “Sssss.” Raspu held up his hand, bringing the group to a halt. “Listen.”

  The Demons crooked their heads slightly to the east, and StarLaughter looked that way, too. She knew what was happening—the flock of twenty-seven Hawkchilds that was scavenging the forests looking for the StarSon were communing with the TimeKeepers—but she could not hear them herself.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What do they say? Have they found him?”

  “Shush!” Barzula said, his eyes intense, but his voice was not unkind, and StarLaughter tried to stifle her impatience.

  Slowly Sheol smiled, and then the other Demons followed suit. Smiled, and then howled with laughter.

  “What is it?” StarLaughter cried.

  Sheol turned her head to the birdwoman. “They have located the StarSon,” she said, “and he walks into a dark trap.”

  She lifted her face into the sun. “Trap!” she screamed.

  21

  Why? Why? Why?

  Faraday was terribly wounded by the donkeys’ rejection. Never previously had they snapped so at her, or kicked. Why, if they had wanted some different path from hers, had they let her know it in such a mean-spirited manner?

  She travelled silently, and Drago let her be, walking by her side, only speaking in low tones when they needed to camp and erect their tent, or to warn her of a particularly deep chasm in the desiccated earth that intersected their path.

  They’d been appalled by the sight that had greeted them on the northern border of the Silent Woman Woods.

  The Demons’ influence had laid waste to the land. Vegetation had either disappeared completely, or had bleached out to grey stalks running with red rust. Cracks angled crazily across the dried plains, and balls of vegetation and dust rolled with a horrible languidness towards distant horizons. Sometimes they dropped out of sight into the unknown depths of dark chasms that split the earth.

  Small creatures—lizards, grasshoppers, beetles—scurried in and out of the cracks in the earth. Most had terrible suppurating wounds, most behaved…oddly.

  It had only taken Faraday and Drago a few minutes to understand why the creatures were so wounded: they attacked each other without provocation, mindless, soulless attacks that gained them only a brief mouthful of flesh that they sometimes swallowed, sometimes spat out.

  They tried to attack Faraday an
d Drago as well, but the blue-feathered lizard hissed at them violently, and the creatures eventually kept their distance.

  The journey through the Plains of Arcness was hardly enjoyable. This was a cold, bleak desert, scorched of life and laughter, and running with madness.

  “And this is only what the Demons can accomplish in two weeks,” Faraday murmured, heartbroken by the sight. “What can they do in six months, or with Qeteb at their side?”

  She glanced at Drago, but his face was as bleak as the landscape, his thoughts obviously no better, and she was glad he did not answer her.

  The feathered lizard ranged ahead of them as they walked north. It scared away what life there was, sniffed out cracks—and poked its talons down particularly interesting ones—and curled up as if to sleep when it got so far ahead it had to wait for its companions to catch up.

  Sometimes they could see his blue clump of feathers far ahead, a bright, incongruous splotch of colour in a drained landscape.

  They walked northwards in as direct a line as they could go, heading for the hills of Rhaetia and then the Nordra. Drago hoped they could find a boat to carry them further northward faster than their current rate of travel.

  At odd moments of the day Drago felt a sickness sweep through him, a knowledge of where the Demons were and, to some extent, of what they did. The link that had been forged between them was both help and hindrance. Drago knew it was invaluable to know where the Demons were. On the other hand the link was so sickening (and reminiscent of the horrific pain he’d endured during the leaps, a memory of hooks dragged from his heels up through his body), and the knowledge of the speed and joyousness of the Demons’ travel so disconcerting, that Drago often wished he could remain unaware of their presence, and their progress.

  He was glad they did not yet know of his survival, and wondered what they would make of it when they did find out…and what they might do.

  Sometimes he looked skyward, expecting any moment to see the great dark sweep of the cloud of Hawkchilds. But the Demons obviously had them occupied elsewhere, and Drago felt some measure of sympathy for whichever poor soul they’d decided to torment.